Schoolwork
by Hannah Lynn McDonald
Summary: Henry must study for school. Set in his childhood. Entirely pointless...


**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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_c. 1789_

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Henry sullenly sat in the window. His arms were crossed, and he glared at the pile of books lying at the opposite end of the window seat as if it had personally insulted him.

He was supposed to be doing his school, practising his French and Latin while school was out so he wasn't far behind when it opened again. He had begged all morning to be released, to be allowed to skip it for just one more day; but his mother had stood firm, pointing out that he had already put it off for three days – he _must_ practise.

He sighed, letting his head drop back against the window pane behind him. Hearing children shrieking in laughter as they played on the pond below, he turned around to watch. When his breath fogged up the window, he wiped it away with his hand, wiping the condensation off on his trousers. Caught up in longingly watching the children play, he didn't hear his mother enter the room

"Henry Morgan! What are you doing?"

Startled, he guiltily spun away from the window and resettled on the seat. "...Nothing."

"I could see that..." She frowned, seeing the distance between the books and her son. "Henry, why aren't you studying? The sooner you practise, the sooner you may be allowed to go outside and play with your friends.

"But Mother!" He moaned, collapsing over on the cushion. "I can't! My mind just isn't working! Mama – please let me go outside." A wheedling note came into his voice as he bargained. "Please, I'm sure I'll be able to think better after some fresh air – I need a rest..."

She laughed, amused at Henry's attempts to escape the work. "No, Henry. You must finish, lest you never come back in – don't you want to be the best in school when you go back?"

Sulking, he shook his head.

"You certainly will when you get there. Now," She lifted him up and put the French book in his hands, "Practise. And cease staring out the window, else you give me reason to lock you in the cellar while you study!"

Glaring at the door she left through, Henry reluctantly opened up the book.

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Clutching her shawl tightly around herself, she called for her son. Nearly two hours before, he had asked permission to go play with his friend, saying that he had finished his practise. As she had been writing a letter at the time, she hadn't tested him. Now it was almost dinner, and time for him to come in.

"Henry!"

He was running up the hill towards the house, the snow soaking his clothes and a huge grin lighting up his face. "Mother! We had the most fun! And do you know what happened?" Skidding to a stop beside her, he gasped for breath. "I fell through the ice!"

She stared at him in shock, unable to decide between worrying for his health or laughing at his dismissal and excitement of the event. "You fell through the ice? Why did you not come home?"

"Because the rest of the ice was not broken – we could still play."

She sighed, taking his arm and pulling him off the porch, taking him into the house through the kitchen door. "Henry, you could get very sick -"

"I know," He answered brightly, pulling off his scarf and mittens as he skipped along beside her. "Mama, I'm hungry – may I have something to eat?"

"Peut-etre. Avez-vous practiquez bien?"

She felt him stiffen beside her, and she stopped. "Henry Morgan. Did you not practise?"

He avoided looking at her, and she lifted his chin to look into his eyes, repeating the question. Eventually, he shook his head.

"No, Mother..."

"Henry, why did you not do as you were told?"

He dropped his eyes.

Shaking her head in exasperation, she pulled him into the house. When he was undressed from his play-clothes, dried off, and warmed up; she sat him down in the parlor beside her, and opened up his book.

"Come, we shall practise together..."

The boy smiled, leaning against her as she started to read.

School wasn't as bad when it wasn't done alone.

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_Translation: Perhaps. Did you practise well?_

_AN: A random idea that came when I was stuck practising my Spanish - except, I would have done French willingly... Thank you for taking the time to read this!_


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